


Too Much Love for Goodbye

by TaeAelin



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Affection, All characters - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Death, Drama, Drugs, F/M, Film throwbacks, Love, Mystery, Nigel Loves Gabi Too Much, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/pseuds/TaeAelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Nigel gets shot, he returns to Bucharest, where everything has changed. Darko runs the city with Gabi by his side. Charlie doesn’t think Victor’s death was by chance. Love, murder and redemption; Nigel wants every last bit of it back. But it can all turn to blood in the blink of an eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> I love _The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman_ (too much!), so I wanted to try and honour the film with a short fic-sequel. In the style of the film, this story takes place in an action-packed 24 hours, using most of the characters and settings from the original.

 

_ _

_**Gabi** _

_Life tastes real when it’s wrapped in poetry._ She heard that in a song once. A forgettable kind of song, the type that didn’t make it to the stage or the big city. But that was how her life had always been, all sweetness and darkness and good guys and villains. The type of life you didn’t mention when first meeting someone, unless you didn’t want them to stick around. And if they did, you could bet they’d be the next act. Good or bad. There were very few who managed both.

Later, she liked to muse that she knew he was coming. That she felt it humming in the air, wincing down her spine just a fraction off-key. And you didn’t just know the kind of people she knew without hearing the kind of things most people didn’t hear. Most of it was just white noise and wishful thinking. But it wasn’t often you heard someone was alive. More often the opposite sparked the most chatter. But the whispers had fouled the air like dirty rainwater, nothing seemed to quench them, not even Darko’s blackening moods. And yet she hardly felt surprised. But maybe nothing would ever surprise her now. Or maybe she just didn’t want to get her hopes up.

When he entered, the room went still. He had that kind of presence, that suffocated what it didn’t steal. She had just traced a square of rosin over her bowstrings, the cloud of white dust blooming in the early morning light. And then everything in the dressing room spun a little louder, a little more vibrant, a little less harsh. A sheet of music flickered to the ground, dropped straight from an open palm. Gabi was the only one sitting down. And the only one still smiling.

“Hullo, gorgeous.”

There was so much to say, and even more to ask. But right now, he was as tangled in her as she was in him, locked in the pause where everyone and everything else could wait.

“They said you were in Lithuania.” The words came smooth as froth on a macchiato, warm on her lips.

The corners of his eyes creased. It was a look that always seemed to suggest he was smiling, sincerer than when he actually did.

“They were close.”

She could have embraced him, if she was sure she would ever let go.

“It’s good to see you.”

He nodded, a gentle movement for a man barely held together by scars and vendettas. And yet, he was more beautiful in all his ruin than he’d been on their wedding day. _In the darkest tragedy wakes the purest romance._ The Opera had taught her that much at least.

“I won’t keep you, darling.” He said it as if they were old friends crossing paths in the street, not a care for the in-between. “I wondered if you’d seen Darko. It might be nice to have a catch up. Travel stories and all.”

And that was when she saw it. She saw it in his casual lean, the lilting tone, the softness of his jaw. He didn’t know. Her beloved, crazy, jealous, _stupid_ ex-husband, who ever had his ear pressed to the ground when it came to her, didn’t know.

“I see him every day, Nigel.”

It was painful to say it, but nothing prepared her for the way his face fell as the meaning registered. He stared right through her, and for a second he may as well have been bleeding out all over again. For all she knew he was.

“Darko.” He seemed unable to breathe, or even blink. “Darko.”

She kept her stare level. There was no going back. No matter how many times she fired the gun, cancelled the call, even jumped off the hydroelectric dam herself, none of them were ever going back. His mouth crumpled, then twisted into a sneer. She didn’t know which was worse.

“Darko. When you know what kind of man he is?”

“He’s not the same man you left three years ago.” Gabi rose to her feet, wishing she hadn’t as soon as her stomach swam to her head. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking he is.”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the hard edges of his frown had smoothed to something more fond. Too close to the man she met first. The man she had saved.

“It almost sounds like you’re worried about me, darling.”

She realised she’d been gripping the back of her chair, her knuckles now white. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

“I’ve been worried about you since I met you, Nigel.”

He straightened. No one else would see the bullet hole. And if he was anything like the man _she_ left three years ago, there was nothing more dangerous than the kind of determination that fed beneath the quietness of his stare.

“I suppose he’d like to know I’m looking for him then.”

She gauged the murmur his words sent round the room, the other string players trying not to glance at her. And failing. She gave an uneasy smile, trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t make her sound like some bird in a cage.

“If you came here through any means but the rooftop-” she watched as he twitched an eyebrow. “-He knows.”

Nigel flicked an amused glare round the walls. The idea of Darko’s many eyes and ears waiting to ambush him was clearly one he found more curious than perturbing. “I see. Well. Any burning questions before I walk out that door then?”

Gabi managed a laugh, surprised it could sound so strangled.

“I can save them for next time. He’s a bit like you in that way-” she hesitated, the ache in her throat growing as the corner of his mouth pulled ever so slightly up. “Likes to drag things out.”

He chuckled. “A bit like me.”

He’d nearly leaked back into the undertow before she caught him, breathless from the short run down the backstage corridor. A beat later and he wouldn’t have heard it. And perhaps then he would have let it all go.

“Be careful, Nigel.” It was dark enough that he wouldn’t see. “He is you.”

He’d always joked his life had been hers to keep. She’d never really given it back.

He tilted his head to one side, slow and sure. “And how does something like that happen?”

She didn’t need to say it. _Because of me._

_-_


	2. False News Travels Fast

**_Darko_ **

“What do you mean, he _slipped away?_ ”

In truth, Darko knew exactly what Petru and Paul meant. He had known it from the second they entered, all slouched toward the sheen of their pointy-tipped shoes.

“He just slipped through your fingers like butter, did he? Slipped into the deep dark shadows in broad daylight? Cheekbones that could cut cheese, and you just let him melt into the crowd, did you? Hm?”

He stalked about the office, never taking his eyes off the two men. The faint throb of electropop felt its way under the door, the perfect upbeat backdrop for a dressing down. Since he wouldn’t have the pleasure of knowing where Nigel set up camp, he could at least enjoy making them squirm.

“Didn’t he put both your heads through a window once? Or maybe the sight of him getting shot between the eyes wasn’t enough to keep his face in your minds?”

“He left by the fire exit, straight into Gabriel’s taxi. You know, the old guy. With all the rosaries and shit hanging in the windows. And those ugly beaded seat covers!”

Darko brushed at the lapels of his Balenciaga jacket, his lips curling to a smile. “Petru. You have just described every fucking cab driver in this city.”

The younger man winced, shoving his hands deeper into his trouser pockets. Paul had a little more class, sitting neatly on the lounges like some vanilla waiting to be interviewed. His turn would come.

“They were pulling toward the People’s Palace. We ran around to the scooter, but by the time we reached the fountain…” he trailed off, his thumb and forefinger tugging at the tiny flick of a goatee beneath his lip. “That cabbie drove like it was the goddamn second coming.”

Darko laughed, delighted to see this elicited more of a shudder from his employees than all his frowns and glares in a basket. “With Nigel as a passenger, to him it probably was.”

Petru dared a hopeful bow of his head, to which Darko raised a hand, shooing him back down to the nightclub floor in a spurt of generosity. He stumbled over the high-pile rug on his way out, an all too speedy departure for good taste.

Darko made a show of a sigh, stretching his back before lowering himself onto the divan opposite Paul. He turned to the wall of photographs, his gaze sampling each like a fine wine, just as carefully spitting them out.

“Let Nigel be. For now.”

Paul’s face registered with astonishment. It was barely more than a twitch at his eyelid, but Darko wasn’t shy about taking people apart, expressions and all. He affected a wide shrug, his own frame of mind well masked by the melodrama.

“Three years is a long time to wait. What will I do without all that suspense?”

He sat forward, elbows loosely balanced on his knees. Darko was not a subtle man. But this time, he felt almost upstaged by Nigel, his bold entrance and cutting away clean. And in front of half the company too. It was clever, he’d give him that. He grazed a knuckle over the dimple at his chin, imagining it, constructing Gabi’s face in that moment of recognition. Then gradually, he rearranged the frames until he liked what he saw.

“Now. Talk to me about Poland.”

It was Darko’s habit to refer to his associates by their citizenship, by birth or purchase or otherwise. In this case, the name was uncharacteristically relevant to the deal, an irony Darko found rather pleasing.

“We heard from his people again this morning. We have an understanding.”

The older man was hesitating, some cinch in the fabric. Darko made an encouraging whirring movement with his wrist, his own heart quickening. What small victories he possessed hadn’t come to him open handed, but this time he felt he was closing in, backing success right into a corner.

“Poland. He said- he wants to meet with you.”

Darko stilled. He eased his spine into the crisp white cushions, sifting the information through his teeth. The safest and most powerful alliances with such men were conducted at arm’s length. Merchants and manufacturers had no brotherhood, knowing more than was necessary only bred risk. It was surprising how little, in fact, was necessary for a lasting partnership. He clasped his hands, tightly at first, leaning his forehead against the weave of his fingers. When he looked back up, his expression was full and invigorated, sending Paul cringing into his armrest.

“Let him come. I will show him the sights of Bucharest myself.”

Paul scraped his palms over his thighs, the sweat bleeding into his cuffs.

“Good, yes.” He cleared his throat until Darko’s stare stopped him from swallowing. “Because he is coming. His people said he’s already on his way. They said to expect him.”

It took nearly a decade’s worth of self-control to stop his fist compounding into Paul’s unforgiving nose there and then. Instead, Darko bit the side of his tongue hard enough to draw a thin metallic taste over the dryness of it.

“When?”

“Soon. They just said soon.”

-


	3. Better Left Unsaid

**_Charlie_ **

“Just play it cool.” Charlie gave his companions an encouraging smile. He felt everything but cool. But if chasing dreams and waking nightmares had taught him anything, it was that sometimes the best plan was not having one. “Walk like you know the place. Act like you’re meant to be here.”

Karl and Luc could not have looked any more lost, nor walked any more suspiciously had they tried.

“Do _you_ know the place?” Karl whispered, then, as if thinking he might be overheard, affected a slight accent for the rest of it. Of what sort Charlie couldn’t quite tell. “Because I could have sworn we’ve walked past this storeroom with all the chairs before. Maybe even twice!”

Charlie had been thinking the same thing, but throwing cold water on his sense of direction wasn’t going to improve it. “Maybe. But it’s a big opera house you know. A lot of productions... a lot of props.”

Luc pinched his mouth in consideration, relenting to a can’t-argue-with-that nod. "A lot of props would need a lot of storerooms.”

Karl blinked. It clearly wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask, but it was as good an opening as any.

“Charlie. Mate. I know you love to keep things exciting and all, but if you’d wanted to walk around a bunch of dark corridors, I know a place where we can do that with music _and_ beers-"

“ _Shh-sh_ ” Charlie came to an abrupt halt. He could have sworn he heard an echo from one of the costume rooms. His friends had frozen mid-stride, their eyes darting from one wall to the other. In Luc’s case, the ceiling and the floor too. It was nothing. Charlie gave a shaky grin. The building was over a century old. There were going to be a few creaks. He waved them on, picking up the snatch of conversation where he dropped it.

“I’m not here to walk around a bunch of dark corridors.” Though contradictory to what they had so far been doing, he pushed on nonetheless. “I’m here because I have to find something. Something I didn’t think mattered. Until I realised Nigel is alive. And back here, in Bucharest.”

This time, there was no mistaking the look exchanged between the other two. He didn’t exactly blame them. Karl gave an audible inhale, gathering his bearings.

“Charlie. You know…” he had to jog to catch up as Charlie rounded another corner, the mothball damp of the lower level paling behind them. “It’s alright to be upset. About Gabi and everything. Y'know?”

Charlie kept his eyes firmly focused ahead. The Bucharest Opera had enjoyed enormous success over the last three years, but the foundations backstage seemed ever more cracked and decrepit since his last visit.

“You’ve still got your passport. And a bit of cash. And a clean record. Man, that’s three things more than Luc and I right now. So Nigel’s in Bucharest. You could go anywhere in Europe!”

Despite the truth of it, not one of those things had yet prevented either of his friends from popping in and out of the borders at the drop of a hat. But their returns were never far-off either, and beneath their insistence that it was all about lust and street parties, he guessed it was something closer to belonging that always brought them back.

Another door. This time, the signage had been ripped right off, or else never installed. Luc hardly seemed to notice, becoming overly fixated on the peeling blue paint beside, slowly pressing his face toward the plaster. He snapped out of it just as rapidly, turning to Charlie with sudden intensity.

“Yeah, or if this has something to do with Dorko-”

“-Darko” Charlie and Karl intervened.

“Darko. Then I don’t blame you. I’d feel the same if I lost someone to him too. But really, I hope for your sake you’ve thought this through, because the last time we got on the wrong side of that guy-”

“Look, look.” Charlie held up his hands. It was hard to put everything in his mind to words, he hadn’t sorted it all through himself. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t even frustrated. But he needed to get this done. And that meant he needed to focus. “I didn’t lose her, okay? I didn’t lose her. It’s not like I just accidentally placed her down and Darko just came along and picked her up or something. Some love just isn’t forever. Sometimes… there’s too much love for forever.”

Karl nodded, as sombre as he got. “Yeah man. Yeah.”

“And some love is just bent toward destruction. And will take you along with it."

Charlie and Karl glanced at Luc, who didn’t seem to think he had shared anything out of the ordinary.

“Thanks… dude.” Charlie gave him a washed-out grin. He wasn’t sure if the statement was even directed at him. There were some things about Gabi that he wasn’t quite ready to let himself think, let alone say out loud.

_But even if she is_ , a more lucid voice in his head reminded him. The one that kind of hurt to listen to. _Even if her love would take her over a reservoir too. I would still be there to catch her. I would still be there to save her._

He stepped toward the door, not realising he was holding his breath until the key slipped all too easily into the lock.

_Which is exactly what I’m doing now._

-


	4. Too Close for Comfort

** **

** **

_**Gabi** _

“I swear, the best thing about you playing in the Bucharest Opera-” Bodgen paused to nab the string of fairy lights between his teeth, weaving his last zip tie around the pipe in the meantime. “-is getting to see you on all your lunch breaks!”

Gabi laughed, holding the chair he was standing on a little tighter. “You get to see me on all my lunch breaks because _you call me on all my lunch breaks_.”

Bodgen retrieved the colourful wire from his mouth, feeding it under the plastic and pulling taught. He gave an excited nod to the overloaded circuit board, and Gabi gingerly flicked the switch. The hostel foyer lit up, the words _Marco Polo_ spelled out in all their pink and green glory. Bodgen gave a thumbs-up, leaping down from the chair and dragging it back to the payphone. “ _Fantastic_.”

Truth be told, she couldn’t have asked for a better excuse. In all his time behind the check-in desk, her friend had been an enduring source of sage advice. And occasionally other things. But they were older now. She scooped the bits and bobs back into his toolkit, watching as he retrieved a hand-rolled cigarette from the lining of his kaftan. Well, they were older  _sometimes_.

“So.” He struck a match and inhaled. “Your man’s back in town.”

She was halfway through pointing to the smoke alarm directly above him, stopping as the last part of the comment registered.

“Hm? _Oh!_ ” Bodgen sprang onto the counter. Seizing a plastic bag, he had it tightly wrapped over the safety device before she could utter another word, the handles knotted expertly in place. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem” she said blankly. She was about ready to light up herself. “But how did you know about Nigel? He only just got back this morning.”

“Well.” Bodgen gave a fond smirk, rustling around the lost and found crate for an ashtray. “I got my first hint when he asked if we had any vacancies.”

Gabi stared up to the mezzanine in disbelief, half-expecting the familiar wounded face to be winking down at her. Instead, a couple of laundry ladies scowled back. They possibly hadn’t quite forgotten the time she’d short-circuited the second floor dryers trying to iron her performance blacks. Fidgeting beneath her slightly creased black scoop-neck, she reasoned it wasn’t completely behind her either.

“Nigel’s... staying here?”

Bodgen raised both eyebrows, then turned rather purposefully to the wall of room keys. Number thirty-four was conspicuously absent. And it was low season.

“It’s a good place to stay.” He hoisted himself up to the reception counter, then flopped his back to the surface, staring up at the skylight. “If you don’t want any questions.”

He had a point. Marco Polo was one of the few hostels within the inner city perimeter that didn’t require a passport on check-in, and Bodgen paid a heavy police tariff to keep it that way. She’d never told him, but it was one of the many things she admired about him. Like all the men she seemed to love, he had principles, and wasn’t prepared to put a price in any of them.

“And what do you think?” She lay down next to him, her boots dangling loosely over the broken desk. Through the smoky shapes rising from Bodgen’s exhale, she could almost make out the sun.

“Me? Hun, you know my mantra. I don’t judge.” She could tell he was in earnest. It was why she couldn’t look. “And it’s definitely not about what I think. This is the full circle. I mean, things like this don’t just happen to people. It’s all about what _you_ think.”

The phrase stirred within her memory, a little more bitter than sweet. “But they happen to some people.”

He reached for her hand, offering a gentle squeeze. “They happen to you.”

The dirty glass panels above became slightly hazy as she clenched his palm in return. “And I always thought your mantra was _first do no harm_.”

He snorted, closing an eye and poking his tongue out. It made her laugh despite herself.

“That’s only when I’m playing doctor.” He grinned, moving his foot to tap the case of homebrewed beer next to the petty change tin. “And it comes with a substantial _except after dark_ clause.”

She rolled her eyes in despair, struggling to wrench herself upright. “On that note, I’d better be running. The new season of _Il Barbiere di Siviglia_ opens tonight.”

“Oh, yes?” Bodgen bounced along after her, shaking himself awake before grabbing the jar of Nescafe as an afterthought. “What’s that one about then?”

“Written in France, set in Spain, first performed in Italy.” She handed him a spoon from amongst his pens. “It’s a love story. Well, a love triangle. It’s very beautiful.”

“Does it end well?”

He backstepped into the communal kitchen, grinning all the way. She gave him a wry glare.

“Do they ever?”

It never occurred to her that Bodgen would have usually walked her to the front door. Instead, while he clattered away with the unwashed mugs, she tore a leaf from the back of the check-in register, scribbling the pen a few times to get it to work.

She made her way up the stairs, her heart pounding harder by the time she reached the third floor than if she had made it to the roof with several bags. There was no one in sight. She could still go back. Hell, she could still have turned around if the landing was full of backpackers and regulars and whoever else. She could have always gone back. Instead, she marched swiftly down the narrow balcony, pausing for barely a split second to slip the scrap of paper under the very last door. By the time it opened, she was gone.

-


	5. Allies and Encores

**_Darko_ **

As the last refrains of _Di si felice innesto_ rounded the pulpits, Darko stood before anyone else. His clapping joined the roar of the crescendo, the rest of the box following suit. As the applause spread through the auditorium, he spared not a look for the actors, the grotesque masks that so tickled his fancy. He lingered a second on Gabi, the crush of turmoil that seemed to overspill with her joy. But his attention belonged to Bela alone.

The Principal Conductor took a savoury bow, receiving the ovation with the kind of pride that didn't give way to indulgence. Darko liked that. He'd hate to be the one to spoil his evening, but that was the way it went. Darko stood, still and patient, the rest of the audience filtering out from the stalls below. He liked to think Bela saw him, his stare lingering in the wings before he gathered his score and faded to the back of the pit. He couldn’t be sure, but the idea had been worth the wait.

In the drizzle of brighter light, Darko accepted a champagne from a passing serving tray, a liberal tip administered in return. The opening season fanfare was every bit his pet penchant, but tonight his enjoyment was little more than a facade, thoughts sunk deep in the mire of his business. He approached the musician with little caution, the hunched shoulders a standout in a crowd of sharp tails and sharper ties.

“Bravo! I think you have another hit on your hands.”

Bela turned around, his customary scowl roused to loathing. In truth, Darko relished such performances, both on and offstage. Bela was a man who sped through life in a perpetual state of anger and passion. If his heart hadn’t bled for the arts, Darko could well have made a place for him in his own kingdom.

Swallowing the grimace, Bela gave a short bow, his eyebrows still knotted high and centre. “From our chief patron, there is no higher compliment.”

While the tone hardly waxed gracious, Darko accepted it with a diplomatic smile. “The honour is all mine. And may the Bucharest Opera continue to flourish for many years to come!”

He raised his flute, the untouched vintage already warm in his hand. Bela braced himself with a tight sip, hardly a flourish to end their conversation. Darko was not so easily sated.

“Bela. Far be it from my intention to-” he lapped a hand toward the guests and canapés, hunting for a suitably obnoxious foreign expression “- _rain on the grand parade_. But it’s actually on that point that I thought we might have a quick word.”

The conductor stiffened, his nostrils flaring as if held over sour milk. “What point?” he muttered, stepping in far closer than Darko knew he was comfortable. It suited him just fine. He placed a hand on Bela’s shoulder, digging his thumb right beneath the collarbone as he squeezed. His face never shifted from amicable as Bela jerked back.

“The point of our arrangement. My support of this fine institution.” He plucked the red rose from Bela’s buttonhole, reaching his fingertip for an affectionate rub at the man’s cheek while he was at it.

Bela creased to a snarl, his voice lowered to a whisper. “That exchange is done. The donation is spent, and now you know the Polish man.”

“ _Mmm_ ” Darko nodded, pleased to receive exactly the answer he expected. He arranged the rose in his own breast pocket. “As you say- it is spent. And you are making a name as a great conductor, yes? But how many years can you string this place along, if the goodwill of your other patrons dries up? Maybe you will be better known as the last conductor.”

Had the carpets not been so lavish, Darko had a mind to think Bela would have spat at his shoes there and then. What a shame, he would have loved to see it.

“What do you want?” Bela hissed, unable to reign his revulsion a moment longer. “All your menacing doesn’t make me know things I don’t know. I’ve nothing new for your table.”

“I don’t want something _new_.” Darko toyed, swishing the drink round his glass. “I want something old. Something three years old, in fact.” He dangled Bela on the cusp of his invitation. “I want the man who introduced you to Poland.”

“He’s dead.” Bela let it out without ornament. _Jumping the gun_ , Darko might have said.

“More’s the pity.” He reached forward again, this time to tap the program Bela had clenched within his fists. “Dead men have names also.”

From the edge of Bela’s arm, Darko’s gaze circled over a familiar splash of red. Gabi spotted him too, raising her fingers in acknowledgement before turning back to her accumulating front-row.

Bela didn’t miss it, his energy rounding to outright distrust. “How she ended up with you, I’ll never know.”

Darko hummed, sipping at his champagne. He wouldn’t have said it never crossed his mind. But he was hardly one to dwell on means rather than ends.

“Well, maestro. People come to me for all sorts of reasons.” He gave a pertinent raise of his eyebrows. “These days, it’s always who you least expect.”

Bela rearranged himself to face the milieu, a faint flush beneath his narrow cheeks. _Proud as well_ , Darko thought. Yes. I like him.

His tolerance waned as one of Gabi’s admirers stepped back from the circle, at least a switchblade taller than the rest. If Gabi had a face to inspire men to war, his would have them running for the hills. Darko gritted his teeth. For all his finesse, he couldn’t deny there was a spike of adrenaline there too. He’d known the talk was true, he’d known long before the day began. But hearing it was a far cry from the viciously unsettling momentum of seeing Nigel in the flesh. The flat champagne suddenly tasted better than the pooling saliva beneath his tongue.

“I think you’d better tell me now-” his tone curdled, no longer sweetened with patience. “Whether the dead man who gave you Poland-”

Bela grazed a palm over his upper lip, the beaded sweat smeared across his cheek.

“-is still dead.”

-


	6. Friends in Stranger Places

** **

_**Charlie** _

“ _Bingo_.”

Karl’s whisper broke the silence that followed the click of the lock, no less eager for not knowing what they were hoping to find in the first place. Charlie pushed against the wooden panels, the door heavier than it first appeared. It fit the frame slightly off-kilter, and he had to bolster it against his shoulder whilst patting the wall for the light switch.

_Please be empty, please be empty._

The space came to life, a dusty mishmash of notes, stands and several instrument cases. He checked his watch, drew a shaky breath, then checked it again just to be sure.

“Okay. The reception just started- we should have at least twenty.”

When Charlie didn’t step aside, Karl shot him a quizzical frown. Luc gave a knowing look, never blinking.

“I need you guys to stick around outside. And if someone looks like they’re coming- either stop them, or let me know.”

The sight of Karl’s mouth dropping would have been more amusing without his heart beating its way out of his own.

“Charlie. Have you gone mad?” Karl shot a furtive look to each end of the corridor. “I mean, we already knew you were a _bit_ mad, but mate, what are we supposed to do? The only thing that’s going to happen if anyone sees us, is us getting escorted off the premises!”

Charlie raked both hands through his hair, nodding fiercely all the while. “Yeah. Yeah. Well. Just think of something. Or… just get escorted loudly.”

Luc gave him a wink, the vague instructions somehow well in his element. “S’alright Charlie. That’s something we can do.”

Charlie could only clasp both hands together in thanks. It wasn’t till he heard the footsteps fade in opposite directions that he wished they’d come back. Or that his watch would tick faster. Or that Nigel would burst through the window in untimely rage. Hell, such a feat hardly seemed beyond him, wherever he was. When none of those things happened, Charlie sank down against the door, knees tucked to his chest. Where would he even start looking?

“So, you found your way into old Bela’s studio.”

Startled, he whipped his head toward the sound. A familiar face smiled back.

“Hello Charlie.”

“Hello… Victor.”

The man had made himself comfortable in one of the fold-out chairs, taking in the room like a fond acquaintance. He patted the spare beside him, giving Charlie a kind clap on the knee as he scrambled to fill it. It didn’t seem right to refuse, under the circumstances.

“Tell me, how is my daughter? She is good?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s good, she’s… doing well. Really well.”

The words had tumbled out before he’d fully considered them. He could only hope they were true. The last time he had seen Gabi was over a month ago now. They’d had coffee and chatted about everything that didn’t matter, the oyster around the pearl. She’d ordered way too many doughnuts, then forced him to take them home in one of those brown paper bags. He’d given them to a busker, and later regretted it. But there were still some things that were just too hard to carry.

“I’m so sorry it didn’t work out, Charlie.” Victor gave a little dip of his head, his eyes wide and sincere beneath the bushy brows.

“Me too. I mean, so am I? I’m okay though.” He could almost believe it. He didn’t feel sorry for himself, at least. She didn’t either, which was a blessing. And neither of them pretended they didn’t care.

“Then why are you here, my old friend? You should be out, doing things, seeing things, making love.”

Charlie breathed out a laugh, then sniffled it back in. “Look, Victor. I think this might be a tricky subject. For you, maybe.”

Victor gave a wry scoff, then reached over to ruffle his hair. “Charlie, I’m dead. If I thought the subject was too tricky, strange way to be thinking, for me to bother you, no?”

“Right, right.” Charlie gave a watery grin. “Well, it’s kind of about that. About your death, that is. I just… I mean, it was very sudden, right?”

Victor gave a non-committal shrug. “I wasn’t expecting it. Who would be?”

“Yes. Exactly. Who would be? But, you weren’t sick or anything, right? Gabi said you weren’t sick.”

“Fit as an ox” Victor winked.

Charlie swiped a thumb and forefinger to the corners of both eyes, pinching them over the bridge of his nose. “Fiddle. I think you mean, fiddle.”

When Victor returned an accommodating nod, he ploughed on. “Victor, this really isn’t easy for me to say. But stuff’s been happening recently, and it’s made me think… that maybe your death wasn’t an accident. And Bela knows something about it.”

This time, Victor looked at him with such care that he almost wondered if this was what it felt like to have a father. He felt two hands gripping his shoulders, as solid as the chair beneath him.

“Charlie, whatever Bela maybe knows, maybe doesn’t- it is the past, yes? You are happy. My daughter is happy. My wife is very happy. I don’t want you to be upset for this now.”

Charlie exhaled, closing his eyes. It was reassuring, comforting and rational all at once, giving him every reason to pack it in and walk away. Except that, when he opened them, it was all too easy to imagine Gabi sitting right beside. She would probably have said the same thing too. And by then, it wouldn’t matter. Without her, nothing would ever matter.

“Victor, I need to find a notebook. Gabi once said Bela keeps everything important; all these names and phone numbers and things, all written down in this book. And if Bela knows who I think he knows, and tells Darko what I think he knows... no one’s going to be happy.”

The man sat back, deep in thought. He looked a bit older then, a bit sadder. Charlie wished he had something to say to bring back the glint in his eye, but it had been too long. They were almost out of time.

“Lucky I did think to visit you then.”

And there it was. The familiar resolve behind the smile. The same he’d seen in Gabi, from the very first day they met.

“The Bela I knew kept it beneath the Stravinsky sheets- there, there, on the left.” Victor nudged and pointed whilst Charlie leapt to the search, wedging his hand between the great scores and symphonies.

“Victor. Thank you. Really, thank you. I’ve got to go.”

He almost had the door squashed behind him before he heard the hushed interjection.

“Psst!” Victor pressed his face back through the opening. “Good luck.”

-


	7. Wine is Thicker than Water

**_Gabi_ **

Nigel blended effortlessly into the gathering, as at ease with the most refined of society as with the very dregs of it. His jaw was set to unreadable calm, his finely tailored suit could have near passed as reserved. Seeing him but a toast away, she had never felt so reckless.

The patrons cast him a wary glance- artisans, corporates, council members; they were all small time swindlers in their own right. Not a flicker of recognition between them, and yet with Nigel, even strangers seemed to think twice. Whilst the conversation petered through the acts, she wove through the fans and scarves and gestures. Keeping her stare firmly fixed ahead, she finally allowed her elbow to brush against his arm.

"My playing. Is it as good as it was?"

She felt his posture shift, every ounce of coiled energy spent on not turning toward her. Her tone had been lighthearted. His could not have been more frank.

"Almost too much so." He paused, holding on whatever may have followed.

It was the kind of honesty that never failed to trip her up, even after so long. Nigel had always been silky smooth, all purring affection and blunt, heady compliments. But not one had been a throwaway, nor a white lie, nor a hidden agenda. He out and out loved her, and always had. She realised she was staring. She wanted to blame her too-quickly-finished glass, or the opening night elation, or the fact that she knew Darko was all too close. But it was nothing more complicated than the fact he might have just as easily been gone. And she hadn’t the slightest idea how he wasn’t. And she was still staring.

“Ah, I see it’s true. Music really does bring people together.”

Gabi almost choked on her champagne, the bubbles burning at the back of her sinus. It seemed barely a second ago that Darko had been knee-deep in debate with Bela. How he had made his way to her side unnoticed wasn’t too hard to picture, yet it unnerved her nonetheless. He rubbed her back, the kind of care he reserved especially for when people were watching.

“Alright, my Gabriella?” Darko sounded slightly tipsy himself, his accent more pronounced, harder at the edges, softer at the vowels.

She gave a blurry smile, then a thumbs up when this solicited no reaction. Appetite whet, Darko gave a jovial sneer.

“And Nigel! What a treat for you to pay us a visit here at our humble house of theatre, on your very first night back in town too.”

Nigel curled his lip, the last trace of his earlier gentleness receding in savage composure. “Much to catch up on. But it’ll have to wait, right now I’ve just missed you too fucking much.”

Darko withdrew, the venom simmering to a low roil. It wasn’t the first time she wondered if there was enough love between them to drown the spill of bad blood. Sometimes it seemed all there had been was love. And that was when they truly hated each other.

“Cheers. Though I daresay you’ve been making your own way.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “And you. Branching out, last time I heard.” He scoured the crimson curtains and bowtied-waiters with a purposeful glance. “Perhaps a little fucking further than necessary.”

Darko gave a hungry grin. Gabi sighed as he walked behind her, pausing to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Ah, but you know me. If I’m playing, I’m all in.”

Restless, she drew a hand to his cheek. Definitely drunk, more than halfway to punchy. She hardly minded Darko’s insinuations, he was far tamer than Nigel had ever been. She had half a mind to suggest they go home, when Darko managed something close to a laugh.

“Nigel, listen. I’m glad we bumped into each other, really I am. And so I don’t want to seem rash when I ask you, what the fuck happened? How the fuck are you alive? And why the fuck are you not in jail?”

“Hardly finger-food conversation, is it?”

“Humour me.”

Nigel twitched the corner of his mouth. He looked more terrifying then, trying to hold together a smile, then all the curses and knives and guns had ever felt on him.

“We both have better friends than each other, Darko.”

Darko regarded him, the words devoured in some wounded sense of acknowledgement. What rung as inebriation only moments before had dissolved, she wondered if he were ever really happy at all.

“And better enemies.” Darko pressed his lips to a cruel line, scanning the room. “Enjoy your evening. I think the next time we speak, you may have to answer my question with a touch more detail.”

Nigel made no sign to show he’d heard, his own eyes cold as Darko slipped into the crowd. When he spoke, his voice came a little quieter, a lot fuller.

“Well. That’ll be me off then.” He blinked, then leaned down, offering a kiss on both cheeks. “You really did play beautifully.”

It wasn’t until she had refilled her glass, answered another round of compliments, and let her spirits subsequently trail down into anguish, that she knew for sure he had forgiven her. Something she hadn’t come within an inch of. Leaving Charlie, loving Darko. She had made damn sure she never would.

 _But_ , a kinder voice reminded her. Maybe the only one she had ever trusted. _This is what’s important. This moment, right now. Us._

And she was walking. And then running. She ran like no one was watching, across the carpets and between the silver platters, until all light and reason was behind her, the streets a maze of everything else.

He was too fast to catch, too dark to see. But, like always, none of that had mattered with him. She knew where he was going.

-


	8. Not a Smooth Landing

** **

_**Charlie** _

Charlie skidded to a halt at the edge of the fountain, his converse near losing grip on the wet pavement. Behind him, Karl and Luc pounded over the road. He wondered if the backstage door had even swung closed before they regrouped, breathless and winded.

“Is someone after us? I didn’t see anyone!” Karl leant on his knees, panting towards the ground.

“No, no. I don’t think so.” Charlie ran a hand over his shirtfront, the small rectangular shape securely buttoned at his chest. He could feel the sweat clinging beneath his armpits, more likely from the stress and relief than the sprint from the Opera House. Making a move before his calves got any more wobbly, he sat at the edge of the water display, the spray from the jets glazing the back of his shirt.

Nudging beside, Luc stared deeply into the filthy pool. Seemingly satisfied that none of Darko’s henchmen were about to burst from the surface, he gave a conspiratorial nod.

“So… was it a win or bust?”

Karl huddled in close. Charlie took a deep breath, convinced it would only sound crazier out loud than in his head. But compared to debriefing his suspicions with his ex-girlfriend’s deceased father, he figured he could at least give it a shot.

“I… don’t know yet.” He stared halfway between the streetlights and the sky. It was all it took before he was right back on that first plane to Bucharest, and it was happening all over again. “Do you know what the first thing that I ever heard Nigel say was? The very first thing, before all his _who-the-fuck-are-you_ bullshit? He was talking to Gabi, and he said _‘I happened to hear of Victor’s spectacularly horrible passing’_. I mean, who says that? Who would choose to phrase something like that?”

Karl gave an uneasy grin, clearly unsure as to whether his friend was looking for an answer. Luc jumped in anyway.

“Well, we are talking about Nigel right? So… maybe the same person who’s also capable of catching up to a speeding vehicle on foot?”

Charlie wove and unwove his fingers, unable to stop the trembling. “Right. I was behind the wheel. The things he’ll do for love, yeah? Well, think of the other thing that was once standing in his way, keeping him from even coming back into the city. Victor.”

Karl held up both palms, eyes widening. “Wait. Wait. I’m sort of seeing where you’re driving here, but mate, Victor was next to _you_ when he died. Not Nigel.”

Charlie stood up, then quickly sat down again, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it sure wasn’t only me and him on the plane though.” He ground his fists into his eyelids, trying to rub away the picture. “Victor ordered us champagne. They just kept bringing all these little plastic cups of champagne.”

Luc gave a frown, a step too many in front. “With the amount of drugs I get away with in just my shoes, can’t exactly think a soluble poison would be that tricky.”

Karl shook his head, bewildered. “Wait, _soluble poison?_ Are you trying to say Nigel not only engineered Victor’s death, he also happened to know exactly what flight Victor would be on from Chicago, and made his way over there just in time to hop on that same flight? All the while keeping out of sight of, oh, you know, the dude who’s blackmailing him and could pretty much identify his chiseled features from sonar sense alone?”

Charlie grazed his hands along the fountain edge, the mosaic tiles snagging at his fingertips. “Karl. This is the same guy who held a broken glass to my artery for not making a puffy-fish face. The same guy who kicked out my chair and almost suffocated me with a plastic bag in broad daylight. Do you really think it’s farfetched to say he wouldn’t take a chance if he saw one?”

Karl blanked, then slowly dawned to further confusion. “…Puffy-fish face?”

Charlie waved both hands, dispersing the image. “That’ll have to wait. And also, I’m not saying he just _happened_ to know exactly what flight Victor would be on. I’m saying he _definitely_ knew, because someone _told him_.”

This time Luc stood up, the idea hitting him like a bolt to the rear. He paced around Karl, who craned his neck, still perplexed.

“-and the only person who knew which flight Victor was taking, was…?”

“ _Gabi_.” Charlie and Luc finished, sharing a painfully comprehending look.

Karl stared from one to the other and back again. “So. What you’re saying is, Gabi told Nigel, the one guy who hated her father, exactly what plane he’d be catching?”

Luc leant down, his face all the stranger for the coloured uplights bouncing off the fountain. Charlie fidgeted with his shirt pocket again, no more able to sit than he was to stand.

“No. But Gabi was supposed to be picking Victor up from the airport. She was waiting there when we all got off. Her cello was in the trunk of the car.”

Karl didn’t look like he was breathing.

“In the afternoon. When she would have otherwise been at the Opera, rehearsing.”

Karl nodded, expectant.

“Which means, if she told someone she was going to be late. Someone who, _runs the rehearsals_ , for example.” Charlie pulled Bela’s leather notebook from his pocket, surprisingly steady despite his rattling pulse. “She wouldn’t have been the only one who knew when Victor was arriving.”

-


	9. Wish You Were Here

_**Darko** _

Rare as either were in Bucharest, Darko loved a storm as much as a heatwave. As the warm rain splattered over the windshield, Gabriel made no effort to slow the taxi, the threadbare tyres wincing against the potholes. Darko gave an occasional churn of his wrist, encouraging him to speed up. The evening at the Opera was packed away, his night at the club just beginning. He had every reason to be on site, he’d been expecting word from the office for the last hour.

_They just said soon._

When his iPhone finally flickered with the incoming call, he picked up on the first ring. But it wasn’t Petru or Paul, nor any of his other watchers or streetcrawlers. He smiled.

“ _Bela_.”

“Don’t sound so happy” the man crackled down the line. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“I hardly ever like anything you say” Darko answered pleasantly. “But it’s all worth hearing, in the scheme of things.”

“Well, this is.” Bela stalled. Darko could have sworn he sounded almost nervous, despite all that bottled angst. But then again, the rain against the car roof panels was rather loud.

“So, you’ve come round to the idea of giving me that name?”

“The name doesn’t matter anymore” Bela snapped. Darko sucked his lip. The suspense was killing him. “I haven’t heard from him in years. Any of them. This whole damn thing I put to bed. But Poland just contacted me, directly. To give you a message.”

Darko held up his hand, jabbing a finger toward the curb. Comprehending, Gabriel hit the brakes, pulling over without a care for the traffic behind.

Controlling himself, Darko lowered his tone to match his temper. “What message?”

“That the meeting is now. That’s all he said. That, and the coordinates.”

Darko sat glued to the beaded seat cover. In a single burst of fury, he punched the dashboard, causing Gabriel to flinch in surprise. Darko held up a hand in apology, which may have looked less threatening without his knuckles weeping blood.

“And why would I need the coordinates for my own nightclub?” he hissed, already knowing the answer.

Bela continued, flat and dispassionate. It made Darko doubt there wasn’t something left unsaid.

“He doesn’t want to meet anywhere near your nightclub. I’ll tell you where. And other than that I’m not getting involved.”

“You’re already _fucking involved!_ ” Darko spat, then reigned himself in just as rapidly. It wasn’t like him to raise his voice, and he felt a surge of emotion, realising it was exactly the sort of thing Nigel would have said. And that he wished Nigel were there to say it.

Taking a slightly kinder approach with the dash, he wrenched the compartment open, grabbing the disused GPS and plugging the wire into the cigarette lighter dock whilst Gabriel sat tentatively beside. The gadget flickered to attention, the home screen near as cracked and outdated as every street they’d so far taken.

“Read them out to me.”

Bela repeated the directions. Darko made him stumble through them a second time, just to have his fill of it. When there was no mistaking, his blood cooled. “So be it. We’re leaving now then. I’ll see you there, Bela.”

“I’m not going anywhere near the place.”

“You will.” Darko purred, his voice light. “Do I really need to spell this out for you? Gabi’s already lost her _father_ , Bela. Do you want her to lose her cherished mentor too?”

When there was no countering note down the line, Darko wondered if Bela hadn’t perhaps seen his answer coming. He ended the call. Perhaps he’d make a criminal of him yet.

Leaning back toward the cabbie, he stroked the GPS, then set it in front of the steering wheel. “Turn around, please. New end point.”

Gabriel cringed in disbelief. Reluctant as he was to second guess his better-paying customers, Darko could see he was going to anyway. Too much of a risk to get it wrong.

“You want me to take you… to the hydroelectric dam?”

“Yes. Please.” Darko turned to the window, so fogged he could barely see the roaring beyond. “To the hydroelectric dam.”

-


	10. Where it all Began

** **

_**Gabi** _

The streetlamps dripped into puddles, the light washing down the gutters with the rest of the downpour. She stopped to tie the ends of her dress to a knot, a last minute measure to stop the soaked fabric clinging round her knees. Her footing on the wet cobblestone was tenuous enough as it was.

Scraping back the hair plastered to her forehead, she saw the small circle of burning orange in the narrow alleyway, the bloom of smoke between the stacked café chairs and folded awnings. She had seen him there in memories more times than in dreams. It was the same table he chose when he first came down to watch her play.

She wove between the umbrellas and extinguished tealights. She guessed he wasn’t paying attention. As she stepped into the small pool of filtered moonlight, the cigarette slipped from his fingers, doused in the spittle of damp ground.

“Fuck” he murmured, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. “Gabi. Fuck.”

Catching her reflection in the darkened shop window behind him, she realised her heavy eyeshadow had leaked down to her cheekbones, making her look almost as haunted as he managed with a smile alone. Taking a deep breath, everything from an apology to an explanation to slapping him right in the face spilled out in sobbing instead.

Nigel stared back as she tried to wipe the stream of black from her cheeks. He took a gentle step toward her, rolling down his sleeve to offer the cuff of his shirt. She took the back of his hand, bringing the rougher palm to rest at the side of her face. He held still, then brushed his thumb softly below her eye, repeating the action at the other.

“Jesus. Gabi.”

She had hardly seen him lost for words. Winding her fingers through the back of his, she brought the clasp of their hands to her mouth, pressing her lips to his knuckles. He was still wearing his wedding band.

“Even if you can’t go back” she started, squeezing tighter than she thought she could. Nigel looked more torn apart then than all the wounds and stitches had ever left him.

“I never got to say goodbye. I told myself, our love got the ending it deserved. That there was too much love for goodbye. That it had to be as messy and bloody and raw as everything I felt, every single second I was with you. I told myself I was _glad_ we didn’t end it with a nice, neat, giftwrapped farewell, because that wasn’t you, and it definitely wasn’t us. But mostly, I told myself I could never look back. Because if I did, even just once-” she stopped, standing on her tiptoes to pull Nigel’s face to her neck. He wrapped both arms around her back, shivering against her chest. “-I’d know you weren’t right behind me. And never would be.”

Nigel exhaled against her hair, the rainwater dripping from his forehead down his nose.

“-and now you’re here, and it’s real, and I love you, and I’ve always loved you, and I just want to say I’m sorry-”

“-of course I fucking want you back.”

Nigel pulled away, raking both hands over his face. For the first time, she could see the scar, twisted and smooth and jagged at once.

“You’re breaking my fucking heart with this fucking speech, but you know there’s not a part of me that doesn’t love you, and-” moving like something wild and hunted, he clasped her hand to his chest like it were the only thing that could save him. “-I don’t even fucking know how not to love you. And whatever you want, or choose, or don’t, I always will. But right now, while I’m in fucking pieces just looking at you, all I can think of is-”

Taking a quick glance at his reflection over his shoulder, he half shook his head in disbelief, then gave a crooked smile.

“-is, _why didn’t she stay with that fucking tuba player?_ The one who isn’t off the rails most of the time, and a jealous, overprotective, emotional fucking wreck the rest of it?”

Gabi choked out a laugh. “Are you talking about Darko? Or _you?_ ”

Nigel threw up his hands, spilling into an all-out grin. “I actually didn’t even fucking _remember_ Darko, until-” he saw her face and spluttered out a laugh. “Darko. Seriously, _Darko?_ ”

She gave him a fond swipe at the arm. “Sit back on that table, let me fix you up a bit.”

He complied, holding still as she brushed away the makeup that had somehow managed to drip onto his face. It gave him time to collect himself before she leaned down to touch her lips to his forehead. 

“That _fucking_ tuba player” she murmured, winking as she played with his favourite word. “Was wonderful. Is wonderful. Will always be wonderful.” She stepped in, feeling him meld to her touch. “But he also reminded me every day, of everything you weren’t. And the reason you were gone.”

“The only reason I was gone was me.” Nigel caught her gaze, suddenly serious. “Not Charlie. And definitely not you.”

“And the reason you came back?”

He wiped his nose on his wrist, the hope and the risk and his whole life balanced on the words. “For us.”

She kissed him then, her fingers wound in his hair, pressing her abdomen against his inner thighs. She kissed him until he gasped for hair, his hands at the small of her spine, hers making short work of the fussy belt buckle and trousers. She pushed him against the flat of the table, his body yielding to the surface, rearing with every teasing movement until she stilled him with a finger to his mouth.

Slowly taking Nigel’s hand, she ran his palm beneath the clinging wet of her dress, dancing his fingers along the lines of lace beneath. His eyes clenched shut, he made an indistinguishable grit of longing as she took his fingertips to the damp centre, stroking them in a gentle spiral at first, then kneading his first and middle to a deeper rhythm, her heart quickening at the pace.

With a look that told him not to stop, she took his leg from behind the knee, pressing his thigh up next to his ribcage. He gave a groan of afflicted pleasure, ever flexible to be wound to her more intricate fantasies, resilient enough where he wasn’t. Drawing her hand down the inner flesh of his leg, she smoothed her palm over the length of his cock, her fingertips chasing the soft rim of the head, coming away silky with the beginnings of his intoxication.

Straddling his hips, she guided him inside her with carefully applied force. She took a sharp inhale as her muscles warmed to the all-encompassing cusp of delirium, the edge of too much. His breath came in short gasps as she leaned down, grazing her teeth over his bottom lip as he fought against her thrusts. He jerked with each lunge and pull, cursing and groaning as she rocked her body over him, her back arched to the sky, her eyes locked with his.

Feeling a flush of heat coil between her legs, his twitching escalating with her speed, she took both his hands in her own, pinning him hard against the table. She dipped into him, her thighs clenched at his waist, trembling as his head hit her shoulder. Nigel shuddered in release, some inhuman nose buried within her neck as he threw his hands free and wrapped them around her. His chest heaved with the exertion, his face fierce and tamed and hers.

It wasn’t until they lay back to look at the stars, smoking and giggling in spite of it all, that Gabi turned to button him back up, Nigel still too shaky to be of much use.

“So, tell me this” she pinched up an eyebrow. “How did you manage to walk here, probably only minutes in front me, and avoid getting completely drenched?”

Nigel glanced at his clothes then at hers, only just noticing the difference.

“Darling.” He creased the side of his mouth in blurry affection. “I didn’t fucking walk here. I took a scooter, arrived well before it started.”

“You own a _scooter_ now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She sat up, glancing back to the red Vespa tucked at the edge of the alleyway. A very familiar red Vespa. “Nigel…” she watched as he nudged an elbow behind his head. “Did you steal Petru and Paul’s getaway ride?”

He swallowed a grin behind an innocent shrug. “Only a loan. Looked pretty fucking handy when they were chasing me on it this morning.”

Pinching him at the waist, she couldn’t help imagine the two lackeys bounding around the surrounding avenues for where they left it. Well, that was two less pairs of eyes on the streets for Darko tonight. Speaking of which.

With an apologetic frown, she slid her cell phone from her handbag. Beneath the pomp and show, Darko hadn’t been himself tonight, and she expected at least a few missed calls. Instead, there was only one.

It was from Charlie.

Someone else might have thought it was nothing, just another coincidence in the lineup of fate and circumstance. But she already knew, before dialing her answering machine and pressing the mobile to her ear. With her, it was never coincidence.

As she listened, she felt the warmth drain from her face. Nigel sat up too, reaching to steady her.

“Baby? What’s happening?”

Silent, she could only press the replay button, handing him the phone. He stilled as he listened, his mouth set to a grim line as the recording spun out.

“What does Charlie mean by this, Nigel?”

He took her hand, some kind of dread at the back of his consciousness. “It means he’s about to make a really big fucking mistake. Which he’d better hope I can fucking stop. But we have to go. Now.”

Numb, she barely realised Nigel was dragging her down the alleyway whilst she tried her best not to trip over her own feet. Throwing his jacket around her shoulders, he cranked the key in the Vespa, kicking a leg over the leather seat and leaning forward.

“What are you doing, Nigel?”

“We. What are we doing.” Guiding her onto the seat behind him, he wrapped her arm around his waist. “We’re going to save this fucking moron. So hold on.”

He pulled out into the road, her squeezing tight enough that she hoped he could still breathe.

“Hey.” He turned over his shoulder. “I love you.”

-


	11. Sleep Like a Baby Tonight

** **

_**Gabi** _

_Hello? Hello? Hi. Gabi, hi. Okay you’re not picking up. It’s Charlie- I really have to talk to you. I’m at the Opera House, but Bela said you already left. And I’m really hoping you’re not with Nigel. Listen, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s serious. It’s about your father. Jesus, please don’t be with Nigel right now. Bela said he’s about to go somewhere to meet Darko, so I’m just going to take a ride with him, and fingers crossed you might be there. Okay. Bye. Bye._

The voice played through her head, over and over as the wind whipped past her ears, the tank at the threshold of Nigel’s acceleration. The fluorescent shop signs had swum overhead as they started, now the roads were fizzled and empty, the oncoming floodlights submerging all else in dark.

The structure was as foul as she remembered, high concrete walls blackened by unfiltered water, shipping containers blocking the ledge from most surrounding viewpoints. And above it all was the neon pink sign – _Bin ati venitla Bucuresti_. It still winked through her nightmares.

Nigel killed the engine, leaping from the seat and belting up the stairs with singular resolve. Tearing off the jacket, she followed barely a beat behind, her lungs biting with the exertion.

Lightheaded and beyond guessing what she would see, they exploded onto the platform, the rush of water drowning the screaming in her head, the echoes of gunshots and sirens. For one horrific moment, she thought she saw the bloodstain where Nigel had once fallen, the pool of black that had seemed to spread in every direction, so fast that she couldn’t even start to stop it. She stared at her hands, half expecting them to be slick and bright with the effort as she held his head in her lap.

Except she hadn’t.

She hadn’t even looked.

She had been staring down at the water. Staring at Charlie. Like she was now.

“Gabi! Gabi!” Charlie was frantic, lost between his thoughts and the ledge. Behind him, Darko leaned up against the chain and pulley, the same he had once strung Charlie from on a whim. On the opposite side, Bela shifted his weight from one leg to the other, brewing with quiet disgust.

Taking it all in, Gabi turned to Darko, the only one she could truly imagine having some unhallowed cause to visit the place. “Darko, what is this all about?”

“Just business for me, sweetheart. Bela’s kindly agreed to keep me company. Why your pet American decided it was necessary to tag along, we can only guess. Looking for you, though. Or can’t keep himself away from high and dangerous places, it seems.” Darko turned to Nigel, affecting an amused grin. “And Nigel. I see you took my advice about enjoying your evening to heart. Never one to miss the big finale.”

“Charlie, get over here” Nigel said tersely.

The younger man gave an incredulous shake of his head, taking a step toward Gabi. His footing came unstuck, as slurred as his vowels. Jesus, was he _using?_

“Gabi. I need to tell you something. Need to tell you.”

“Charlie, I’m right here” she called, stretching out her hand. “It’s alright. You found me. Just come back with Nigel and I now, and we can all talk.”

“Not _Nigel_ ” he tried to walk straight again, stumbling against the railing. “Not Nigel. Not Nigel. Gabi, it was _Nigel_ who killed Victor. Bela _sold_ the information to him, in exchange for some kind of _donation_ , for the _Opera_. I have the evidence right _here_.”

Bela looked up. Clearly this part of the story hadn’t come to light on their journey over, a fact for which Gabi could only be thankful. Charlie took a few more steps, reaching for his shirt pocket and collapsing forward, his knees slamming into the pavement.

Bela rushed to Charlie’s side, twisting him back to his feet none too gently. “The fool’s had too much to drink.”

“Funny, I only saw him have one.” Darko leered, flicking his chin toward Bela’s Dacia parked offside. “What was it you offered him? Evian water? Never trust imported goods, hm?”

The conductor clearly didn’t appreciate the suggestion, gritting his teeth before popping the button on Charlie’s shirt pocket. Reaching in, he drew out his brown leather notebook, his expression turning to surprise.

“I’ll take that” Gabi held out her palm, calm and still. It didn’t even occur to her that Bela might refuse, until she saw his gaze slip toward the spurting water below. It would only take one throw. And it would all be gone.

Instead, she saw his face fall, drawn as he was defeated. He placed the book into her hand.

“The page I… folded over.” Charlie made a wide circle in the air, trying to point. “It has… Victor’s flight times. And the… transaction details. Banking receipt. Of who paid him… the money.”

Gabi coursed the worn pages, her thumb stopping at the dog-eared one. She looked back at Nigel. He never broke her gaze, as unreadable as he’d been in the seconds before he left her. The moment before he died.

The scrawl was familiar as Bela now felt foreign, the man she had known forever, and never known at all. And the offshore account details. They might have looked like a series of illegible numbers to anyone else. If she hadn’t seen them for the past three years, every single time she helped Darko manage his finances.

“You told Darko what plane my father was on?”

She spoke softly. It mattered too much to let herself feel. It mattered too much to get it wrong.

“I told him when your father would be arriving.” Bela muttered, his voice breaking. “Darko wanted to speak to him. Convince him to give up the tape. They both did. But Victor wasn’t exactly making himself available. So Darko said he just wanted to know where Victor would be. Just one time. Just for one chat.” He shook his head, his face crumbling to decay. “I have regretted it for the rest of my life, Gabriella.”

She veered toward Darko, filled with the kind of hate that can only come from admitting something you knew all along. Something that you kept just close enough so as not to see it, blurred in the edges of your vision, sleeping between your sheets at night. And he knew that she knew. And saw him clearly now.

“For what it’s worth, it wasn’t fun. But things get messy when there’s blackmail involved, and my face was on that thing too. And we both know Nigel wouldn’t have stayed away forever. It’s you, Gabi. How could he?”

“You’d should be fucking praying I stayed away forever” Nigel spat. “I thought we fucking agreed-”

“-that we were actually just going to _talk_ to him?” Darko almost sighed. “See, that’s your problem, Nigel. You think that when _you_ decide something, everyone else is just going to go along with it. Haven’t you learnt your lesson yet? Maybe you should have shot Charlie when you had the chance. But don’t worry. Like always, happy to tie up the loose ends for you.”

Gabi saw him reach for the gun before he moved. She had been with him long enough to know the angle he’d take, the way he had to line up all his sights before firing. The way he had to reposition his stance. The way his right shoulder never held up after the injury, so he had to think twice with his left. And through all that she was running, leaping for Charlie and bowling him to the ground, his back colliding with the surface, her own covering him from above. She had no idea if Darko would shoot straight through her. But she kept her gaze level as they landed. If he did, he was going to have to look her in the eye.

Nigel burst forward too, sprinting toward Darko as he reconsidered his target, then turned the pistol to face him. “Nigel, that’s a stupid move if I ever saw-”

He didn’t. Darko never checked his peripheries. Bela hurtled into him from the side, his arms crushing Darko’s ribcage as he swept him into the railing, the overhanding chain clanging against the metal poles as the back of Darko’s head split against the structure. The shot sunk into one of the shipping containers with deafening finality, the gun clattering from his outstretched hand.  Blood dribbled from Darko’s mouth, spattering the rose he still wore in his pocket. Gabi could have sworn she saw him smile.

“Well. That was rather impulsive of you. Perhaps I should have let you take a raincheck on this meeting after all.”

“It wasn’t impulsive.” Bela’s voice was dead as his eyes. “Your meeting’s going on right now. Petru and Paul are there. With Poland. Back at your nightclub. Why on earth did you think he would pick _this_ place? I brought you here to do this all along.”

As Darko’s strength failed him, the gush of blood cascading down the back of his neck, Bela hoisted him up, balancing him over the pipe edge. For a moment, Gabi thought she saw him let go. Maybe he could have always let go. But Darko wouldn’t. He leant back until the weightless night gripped them from beneath. In the blink of an eye, the froth of black water swallowed them whole.

She didn’t remember hearing the splash. She didn’t remember getting to her feet, nor reaching for the wash of blood at the railing, nor screaming Bela’s name. Or was it her fathers?

Nigel had his arms round her waist, pulling her back until she sank into him, the ringing in her ears rising until she thought she was going to be sick.

“It’s me. It’s just me. It’s Nigel.” He held her close, trying to slow her breathing.

“Nigel’s dead!” She heard herself saying. “He got shot, right here, three years ago.”

He knelt in front of her, peering up through his sweat-soaked hair, a bruise of grease streaked across his cheekbone.

“Do you remember what you always said to me?” she cried, all his silly phrases bubbling to the surface like poetry, or the lyrics of a song. “ _Till death do us fucking part._ Do you remember that?”

He blinked, taking her hands between both of his. “Yes. And I was fucking wrong.”

He pressed the clasp of their hands to his forehead, struggling not to grip too hard. Some other world, some other life. “I’m here with you. I’m here for you. And now I know not even death can keep us apart.”

Gabi stared at him, still as honest and insane and ridiculously fucking dramatic as the day she met him. But somehow it worked. And somehow, it was still real. She didn’t have the type of story you could just tell someone over coffee- hers was the blood of scores and acts and operas. The kind that she had been telling her whole life, in every note she ever played. The kind that never ended well. That people lived for. When they needed to believe that tragedy was sweet. And love was true.

-

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end of my crazy story, thank you so much for reading!! (:
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome, or say hello to me on [tumblr!](http://taeaelin.tumblr.com/) <3


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